Glacier Travels

For the remainder of our stay at the park, we only covered a few short trails. After completing the hike down from Sperry Glacier, we checked into the Apgar Village Lodge, where we had a tiny room not much larger than a modern walk-in closet. It was clean enough, and I had brought earplugs because I knew the walls would be thin. We showered up, then drove to the Trail of the Cedars boardwalk nature trail through old growth forest. It was absolutely lovely, lush, green, moist. It included a view of a stream chasm too. The people there were certainly different from the fit hikers with their hiking poles at the chalet.

In the morning we checked out of the lodge, moved into only my friend's car, and drove over Going to the Sun Road, stopping only briefly to take in a few overlooks and another stream chasm. We grabbed lunch just outside the park, then re-entered the park for the Many Glacier area. My friend wanted to see Many Glacier and wanted to take a boat ride, so we combined the two and took a boat ride from the Many Glacier Hotel. The boat tour covered two small lakes, and it included a guided nature walk to Grinnell Lake. Except for my aching feet and hindquarters, it was quite enjoyable. We learned to identify a few plants, and we heard some of the history of the area.

That night we arrived late in East Glacier, where I had made us a reservation at the Mountain Pines Motel. I liked this motel; the room was spacious and included a queen-sized bed, the bathroom had a skylight, and the price was lower than I paid anywhere else in Montana. We ate at Luna's restaurant, which recently opened where Restaurant Thimbleberry used to be. Although my friend's meal was only passable (lame French fries), my meal was my favorite restaurant meal of the whole trip, and the service was friendly and prompt. I had the Indian taco salad, which is a fairly common offering in the area. It consisted of Indian fry bread, chili, a few pieces of lettuce, sour cream, and salsa. It was flavorful and filling.

The next day we visited the Two Medicine area of the park. The nature trail to Running Eagle Falls is both informative and short, and the falls were one of the great sights of my park visit. They were named for a woman warrior who had the good fortune to be interred there by her respectful tribe. We visited a couple other places in Two Medicine as well, then took the southern route around the park back to the west side and drove back to Kalispell. Kalispell has a convenient La Quinta Inn with reasonable rates and guest laundry facilities, so we were able to clean up our stinky hiking clothes, and in the nick of time too! Cold air came in that night, so in the morning I needed my hiking clothes.

We had planned to go rafting on Labor Day, but temperatures were chilly, and there was a short hike my friend very much wanted to take, so we did that. We took the shuttle up to Logan Pass Visitor Center, where the wind blew fiercely and it was snowing, and we hiked 1.5 miles each way on the most popular trail in the park, the trail to Hidden Lake Overlook. I welcomed the cold, though I was sorry I had forgotten to bring my gloves. I kept my hands in my pockets except when I was taking pictures, but it took a couple hours to regain warmth in them after the short hike.

Hidden Lake Overlook trail had a climb and a brief descent to a wooden viewing platform. Sometimes we were out of the wind, and it was comfortable. The viewing platform was the most exposed spot, and we could not remain there for long! We took a couple pictures and scrammed. The picture shows the wind blowing right up my pant legs and making me look like the Michelin Man.

Once down the mountain, we continued to Polson for a late lunch that doubled as supper too. Nearly everything was closed for the holiday, so we ate at a family diner, the Driftwood. I had a buffalo stew special with fry bread and a traditional native sauce made from wild berries. It was good comfort food. We stayed in Missoula for the night, then parted company, my friend driving west, and me driving east.

Sperry Chalet

I met up with a friend from college in Kalispell, Montana, and we traveled together in Glacier National Park. Our first stop was Apgar Village inside the park, to buy him a hooded sweatshirt. Although I wore layers of lightweight clothing, we were not camping, and the weather was pleasant, so we did not worry about the old "cotton kills" saying in picking up something warm for my friend to wear. I had also brought a water resistant windbreaker for him.

We parked at the Apgar Transit Center and took the free park shuttle to the trailhead. Although the weather could have been cold, it was in fact hot. I quickly switched from my long-sleeved shirt to my wicking tank top. Later I even soaked the tank top in a cold stream to cool off; it dried quickly. It was the only tank top I had brought; I had intended to use it for an extra layer of warmth. I ended up washing it nightly and wearing it every day on the mountain.
The hike to Sperry Chalet was not terribly rewarding! It was seven miles long, was very steep, and was surrounded by trees so we could not see the mountains for most of the climb. It was also very hot and sunny; we were glad I had insisted on bringing a gallon of water to use to refill our water bottles. We drank almost the whole thing. We were grateful that the chalet staff meets its guests with glasses of lemonade. I ended up asking them for coffee too since I was so wiped out. Altitude may have had something to do with it, but the heat was probably the main cause. My body does not care for heat.

Sperry Chalet is a fabulous place to spend a couple of days. It costs quite a lot per night considering there is no electricity or showers, but it is worth every penny. The views are splendid, the rooms are neat as a pin, and the price includes all meals plus afternoon drinks and snacks. They cart supplies up the mountain by mule train twice a week.

There are two paths to reach the chalet, both of which involve the Gunsight Pass trail. You can take the 7-mile route from the Lake McDonald trailhead either on foot or on horseback, or you can take the 13.5-mile route from the east, which goes over Gunsight Pass. Both days when we were there, somebody ran into trouble on Gunsight Pass and did not arrive until late. One woman's hiking boot fell apart, and she also had not brought enough water. Some kind campers got her additional water and taped her boot together, but in the end the park rangers transported her down the mountain because she seemed to have altitude sickness. She did not make it to the chalet. Her group stayed, though one of them opted not to join the rest of the group for their Sperry Glacier hike the next day. The group on the second day simply ended up hiking slowly; the chalet still provided them with dinner when they at last arrived. That evening we enjoyed a highly entertaining presentation on park wildlife from the husband of the head woman at the chalet.

Dinner at the chalet is a multi-course meal. They have a rotation of three menus. My favorite was a salad of field greens, roasted tomato soup, fresh multi-grain bread, roast beef, mashed potatoes, corn, and huckleberry cake. They bake using whole grains, so the texture of their baked goods is very similar to what I bake at home. Breakfast also includes whole grains. Guests choose from a menu: 1-2 eggs cooked any style including poached, bacon, ham, pancakes, oatmeal, coffee, tea, hot chocolate. Apple juice is also included. Breakfast is fortifying, and after we eat we pick up our sack lunch. The first day they sent us off with us two sandwiches apiece, and I was so impressed and pleased, but I later found out it must have been a mistake. They normally only provide one sandwich per person. I loved having two sandwiches!

The 8-mile hike to Sperry Glacier was less demanding than the 7-mile hike to the chalet, because it was half up and half down. That said, it was more difficult. The trail was less even, a lot more rocky. Toward the end there was a climb up stairs through a narrow chasm that created a wind tunnel, but there was a rope installed to hold on to, so the passage was not too dangerous. After one finished negotiating the stairs, a sign said it was one kilometer to Sperry Glacier. This kilometer involved following cairns over rocky outcrops and across snow fields. After a while I got nervous that maybe we had gone too far, there was no one else around, and what would happen if one of us injured an ankle since neither of us was wearing boots... so I talked my friend into turning back, and then later we found out there actually _was_ another sign where the foot of the glacier was, so we should have kept going. More hikers showed up as time passed, so the area was not so devoid of people as it was earlier in the day. Probably the others stayed at the chalet to watch the mule train before leaving for the hike, but I did not want to hike in the heat of the early afternoon a second day.

Anyway, we did reach the glacier, just not the _foot_ of the glacier. The glacier area was spectacular. The whole hike was lovely, passing by stones of many colors, various small waterfalls, and three tarns. Even so, the glacier area surpassed it. We could see so many peaks spread out before us, and the mountain's stones were exposed with some alpine tundra flora. It is not surprising that this hike has the reputation of being one of the best in the park.

My friend got the idea to take Gunsight Pass back down, but I argued against it. I had a bad plantar fasciitis flare-up in July and August, and I felt I was lucky to have made it as far as I had. If I tried a really long hike, I might have sore feet for the next month. Sometimes it can take a full month of wearing nothing but Doc Martens to recover from a bad plantar fasciitis incident.

It was good that we took the short route down. My feet hurt agonizingly the next day, but they recovered quickly, and now they are only very mildly sore.

Day in the Badlands

This fall I finally set aside two weeks for a driving vacation. I left on a Saturday morning, and returned on a Thursday afternoon so I could have a three-day weekend at home before going back to work. I drove 700 miles on the first day, all the way to Badlands National Park. After such a long drive, I did not feel like pitching my new tent for the first time, so I found a cheap and smelly motel room, opened the window, and headed back into the park.

I thought I had seen badlands before because I had seen a few buttes from the interstate. Badlands National Park blew me completely away. It is continual "bad lands to travel across," a fur trader's living nightmare. The landscape goes up and down, undulating like a 19th-century seascape, and much of it is sandy and treacherous besides. In addition, there are prairie rattlesnakes. One sign noted that if we were careful and hiked very quietly, we might have the privilege of hearing the warning rattle before the snake struck. O, the joys of communing with nature!

On that first evening I walked the Cliff Shelf Nature Trail, where I saw some extremely habituated wildlife, breathed in the juniper, took in the views, and watched for prairie rattlesnakes. It was quite relaxing. As the sun set, I drove up to a scenic overlook and took some night pictures, and then I attended a ranger presentation on the night sky. The Badlands are, fittingly, a "dark place," and if the moon is not too full, one can see a lot of stars. On this night the moon was nearly full, but there were still a few constellations visible to the naked eye. They had telescopes available for visitors, which was a wonderful thing for them to do for people, but I left early. It was late, and there were a lot of digressions in the presentation, and I decided to go away and sleep.

I got up for a sunrise hike but slightly misestimated the time of the sunrise. I was at the trail at 6:20, but 6:00 would have been better. At any rate, getting up early was the best thing to do. Temperatures were unusually cool in the Badlands, but it was still hot, and it was still dry. I hiked on the Castle Trail only from 6:30 to 8:15, but by the time I returned, I was quite warm, and I could not have gone much farther without packing additional water. If I return to do the Castle Trail/Medicine Loop hike, I will pack along more than a gallon of water, no matter how early I start.

The slanted rays of the morning sun allowed me to see the colors of the Badlands formations more clearly. Later in the day the sun is so bright that the cliffs seem almost white. In fact, I took an evening photo of a cliff that I thought was white, and I was surprised to see several different shades of tan when I opened the image up later.

The Castle Trail is a marked walkway in which you follow posts, not a groomed trail. When you reach one post, you look for the next one, and you follow whatever path looks best to get you there. Jumping around on the rocks is genuinely great fun; of course I wore heavy boots in case of rattlesnakes, but I could still jump around pretty well anyway. There are a few sinkholes that look like prime rattlesnake habitat, and I avoided those. Since there is so much erosion, you can see all kinds of different layers of rock, and you can often see the root systems of the prairie grasses. The very tippy-top of the Badlands formations is where ground level once was, but so much has eroded away through the work of ancient rivers and the ever-present prairie wind, that now the ground level is significantly lower.

After my hike, I went on a geology walk with a ranger and a group of smart-alecky older travellers much like myself. I am not sure whether we learned more or laughed more, but I suspect the latter. I learned that to prevent plague, South Dakota parks have been spraying flea powder into prairie dog towns, right into the tunnels, and that this process makes the prairie dogs highly indignant and aggravated. I learned that an early park geologist (Ferdinand V. Hayden) was known to the Sioux as "Man who Picks up Stones while Running," because he would see them coming and try to run away, but he could not bear to leave his fossil finds behind so he would stuff them into his bag as he ran. The Sioux actually left him alone because they thought he was completely crazy for being out there without food or water, and after all, crazy men are touched by the holy spirit.

When we finished talking and laughing ourselves silly, and hiked out to the end of the Door Trail and checked out yet another phenomenal view of seemingly endless badlands, I headed on out. I scooped the rest of the main drive through the park, stopped at a few overlooks, and drove up to Wall for lunch. (Later I also found women's jeans without spandex at Wall Drug, so Wall proved useful to me on this trip. Most department stores no longer carry 100% cotton women's jeans.)

I decided to drive down to the south end of the park to see the visitor center run by the Oglala Sioux. Although it was a good visitor center and I enjoyed visiting it, I would not have gone if I had had any idea how long it would take to get there and to get back out again. The roads were in poor condition, and it took simply hours. I thought it was interesting that the visitor center was located in an area so far from the rest of the park, and I wondered whose idea that was. I did not reach Wind Cave National Park until nearly 6:00. Luckily, my tent assembled easily, and I spent some time lying around staring vacantly until it was time for the evening ranger presentation.

Spring Bicycling

The weather has turned mild, and I have begun my spring cycling outings. When I start riding in the spring, it's cold and dirty outside, and I ride my trail bike, and I wear heavy clothes to keep warm. Right now the weather is fine, but most of the people out riding are taut road bikers with intense looks on their faces. Now and then I see a couple of kids, and a handful of middle-aged lunatics on fat-tired bikes. I know where I belong. In my yellow striped pants and purple jacket, riding my trail bike, I am clearly one of the middle-aged lunatics, and we all smile at one another and wish each other good day. The road bikers do not acknowledge my nods unless I am riding the skinny-tired bicycle.

When I switch to my skinny-tired bicycle that my helmet matches, and I wear biking shorts and a jersey, the road bikers acknowledge my presence, while my own people, the middle-aged lunatics, view me with some suspicion. I might ride too fast on the trails, where people are trying to be at their ease and move at leisure.

There is no unity among bicyclists, except at RAGBRAI. I almost missed the registration deadline this year, but at the last moment I registered for two days. If all goes well, I will ride from Iowa City to the Mississippi.

Break in the Storms

Yesterday brought temperatures only a bit below freezing, with sunny skies. I stopped briefly at the Sac and Fox trail to photograph Indian Creek. Although it was gorgeous, I wouldn't recommend it for walking. The entire trail, and then some, is covered in cross country ski tracks, and of course skiers don't want people walking on their ski tracks.

Today it is snowing again. I had to cancel my plans for a day on the town. Instead I get to prepare tax materials, pack for a business trip, and bake. I'm making Tex-Mex beef pie with cornmeal biscuit topping, and a large batch of carrot-pumpkin bars.

Chasm Lake

On Thursday in Estes Park I bought myself a cup of hot tea and drove to Longs Peak trailhead, arriving just after 7:30 a.m. It was August and the first completely clear day in a while, so the parking lot was already full because of all the people going for the summit. I had to park about a quarter mile down the road, lengthening my hike a little. I left half the tea in the car to finish after my hike, and I headed up the road.

After chatting with the rangers, I signed the registry at 8:20 and pointed myself up the mountain. The trail was wooded and shady for quite a good distance, though it climbed steadily. I immediately realized I should have brought more than 1.5 liters of water, although I rationed it and made it last the whole hike.

One complaint I have about hiking books is that they never mention toilet facilities. To me the presence or absence of a toilet on a crowded hiking trail above treeline makes a big difference in my planning. I had to assume there would not be a toilet, so I drank only a minimal amount before starting my hike, then drank frequently as I walked, so that all the water would be used by my body and would not be wasted. It turned out that this caution was completely unnecessary, as there were not just one, but two, composting toilets on the trail, neither of which was marked on the park map. However, I did not need either, because I had made sure I would not. If I ever write a hiking guide, I will mention toilet facilities for those who would rather not go in the woods if they don't have to.

After a couple of miles I reached a sign announcing the beginning of alpine tundra, and the trees became stunted and quickly went away altogether. The rest of the hike was exposed, and the sun was bright. I took short steps and tried to use as little energy as possible to lift myself up the stone steps. After only 3 miles I was exhausted and wanted to turn back, but instead I sat down, rested, and kept going.

I was frequently passed by trail runners, which was demoralizing. Even when I was moving at 2 m.p.h., which seems pretty brisk for walking up a mountain at 10,000 feet the day after one's arrival, I stopped for a swig of water and got passed by two older men from Minnesota who told me, "Keep drinking that water!" I congratulated myself on refraining from flipping them off.

When I got to the juncture where the hardcore hikers turned off to the Longs Peak summit, and there was only .7 mile remaining to Chasm Lake, I perked up and headed down the cliff-hugging trail to an alpine meadow, still being passed by multiple hikers. I think I was the second slowest person on the mountain. The slowest guy was traveling with a group, and at one point his female guide decided to encourage him, within earshot of any passing hikers--"I'm so proud of you, you've really pushed yourself, I'm really proud of you for pushing yourself that way." I was glad I was hiking alone, so I could stumble and groan without anyone embarrassing me with condescending praise.

Anyway, the alpine meadow was lush and glorious. A stream ran through it, then tumbled over a high cliff to form a lake below. Above us was the east face of Longs Peak. When I reached the end of the meadow, it was a while before it dawned on me that I had not seen Chasm Lake yet. I still had to climb the rocks in front of me. I thought, "This is sick."

However, there was no way I was turning back a quarter of a mile from Chasm Lake, so I climbed up that big rock slide. After I reached the top of it, I climbed an easy rock face and crossed a few boulders, and I was there.

Chasm Lake is surrounded by big boulders, and it backs up against cliffs. Sometimes you can watch climbers ascending the east face, but I didn't see anyone climbing, though there were a lot of people at the lake, including several children who were also tougher than me. I took in my view, ate Plainfield Pistachio trail mix (delicious!), drank more of my water, and turned around for the descent. It was easier than I expected, although this was when I witnessed the emasculation of the one hiker who was slower than I was.

I climbed on out of there, then descended carefully so as not to put too much stress on my knees, still continually being passed. Pretty soon my ankles hurt, my knees ached, my butt burned, and I basically felt like everything below the waist was mush. I didn't mind, though; I would have been disappointed if I hadn't hurt that much. I had a great time, and relished being quasi-alone in the mountains.

Lake Haiyaha

When I arrived in Estes Park, Colorado, I stopped briefly at my hostel, the Colorado Mountain School, then drove on to Rocky Mountain National Park, making it into the park by noon. I took the shuttle to Bear Lake trailhead and hiked up to Lake Haiyaha. For the first mile, as far as Dream Lake, the crowds were really dense, but after that the path was sometimes so deserted that I sang songs to warn bears of my presence. I chose “Peter and the Wolf” and “Going to a Go-Go.” With any luck no one heard me.

Dream Lake is one of my favorite places, and aptly named. The water is clear and green, and there are rocks under the lake’s surface near the shoreline, providing an interesting brown and black contrast to the emerald green water. Most people continue from Dream Lake to Emerald Lake, but there’s also a narrower and less-trodden path up the mountainside to Lake Haiyaha. The trail is no more difficult, and the lake is prettier. There’s also a gnarled tree whose wood is an absolute riot of colors.

Unfortunately, I left quickly due to a cloudburst. I really need to get a better rain jacket.

This was my first day at high altitude, although I had overnighted in Limon, Colorado, which helped. I walked slowly, taking 4 hours to cover only 5 miles. I took long stops to shoot pictures with an antique Argus C-3. I’m not sure whether I like the views best, or the smell of the trees best, but the two put together are intoxicating.

In the evening, back at the Colorado Mountain School, some exhausted climbers and I all put in earplugs and slept for over 10 hours.

Moments Close to Home

This winter we had a couple weeks of brutally cold weather. Our local media even called up Nome, Alaska, to see how they felt about experiencing temperatures above freezing while the lower 48 was in a deep freeze. Nome wished we could trade; they had to change the route of their dog sled race.

Eventually the weather warmed up to merely bitterly cold. When the temps finally got up to around freezing, I left work early to take a walk. Initially I wanted to walk at Sugar Bottom, but it was closed, so I drove a little ways around the Coralville Reservoir and found MacBride Recreational Area.

There were two vehicles already parked in the last lot: a pickup with a flat tire and a small car. As I walked across the parking lot toward the Hawk Ravine Trail, three or four hikers in full packs returned to their car from the opposite direction. I walked a short distance along a snow-packed cross-country skiing trail (which I later found out was not the Hawk Ravine Trail) and saw a bunch of raptors wheeling about. I watched them until they flew away, then walked on through the Fox campsites out to campsite 8, which was a fantastic spot overlooking the reservoir. I'd like to camp there some time.

I walked back to the parking lot and headed up the road that the backpackers had come from. I passed the Wolf campsites and a shelter, waved hello to a jogger, found a map, and decided to go on as far as the raptor center. Before I got there, though, I found the Hawk Ravine Trail. This was obviously a short trail headed in the direction of my parking lot. The sun was going down, and I had left my flashlight in the car, so I took off at a good clip down the trail, scampering up and down the hills with my feet sideways so I wouldn't slide in the snow. When the parking lot was in sight, I stopped on a wooden bridge and listened to the calls of the birds and the rustle of the breeze, and I looked all around.

After a while I walked on quietly for a few yards, then turned around for another look. About 50 yards behind me there was a timber wolf. I couldn't believe my eyes. I just stood there and stared, wondering if I was mistaken. I still can't say for sure that it was a wolf because he kept his face turned away from me, but he had the markings and the tail for it. Wolves seldom range this far south, but it was very cold this winter, and they do travel in winter.

The wolf studiously pretended to be interested in something else and didn't make any moves toward me. Still, it seemed to me that if a wolf showed himself to a human, he was probably hungry and might be kinda hoping that I was wounded or very small (or maybe only that I might toss him some beef jerky), so I made stomping noises as I walked quickly back to my car.

I'm reading a book of "unforgettable journeys" and trying to plan a trip on the Trans-Mongolian Railway for next year, but at the same time I feel that a person can have unforgettable moments close to home if she doesn't close herself off to them.

Two Bike Trails

I explored two new bicycle trails where I can get passed by people on light road bikes who aren't working nearly as hard as I am. My only satisfaction has to be my thigh muscles.

First I rode the trail along the Mississippi River in Davenport and Bettendorf. The paved part is not terribly long, but it looked like it continued as a gravel path. I didn't try the gravel since it wasn't marked, and 16 miles or so were enough for me that day. It's a pretty route, especially the south end.

The north end goes through a lot of civilization, passing riverboat casinos, factories, and a couple of bridges. The most memorable part of the north end was passing under a bridge and then hearing a thunk on the top of my bicycle helmet. I thought, "Was I just divebombed by a bird? Naw..." and I pedalled faster, figuring the bird would let me leave in peace.

THUNK!

I could sense the bird behind me, dipping and rising like some World War II fighter pilot ready to strafe, but I wasn't about to get divebombed a third time. I brought the bike to a dramatic stop across the whole bike path, hollering in my gravelly predator voice, "That's it, bird! Now you're gonna get it!"

She flew off. On my way back she came for me again, a red-winged blackbird, but this time I was watching for her. She flew overhead, and every time she started to swoop downward, I yelled at her menacingly and shook my fist in the air. I was fully prepared to clobber her and knock her right out of the sky, and she knew it and stayed out of reach.

Now that I have passed through safely, I will leave her in peace and not return to that bike path until her babies are grown.

The other new trail was the Cedar Valley Nature Trail. This is a rails-to-trails path and really amazingly dull. It's just a straight shot, no bends or small hills to liven things up. I went about 10 miles before turning back, rationing my single bottle of water in the heat, stopping at a park for more water on the way back, and making it to town for Gatorade in the nick of time, just as I was beginning to feel dizzy.

Once you get about 6 miles out of Cedar Rapids, you find some pretty trees and streams, as well as a little shade here and there, so although it's still a straight shot, at least there's more visual interest and a break from the relentless sun. Next time I'll start from Boyson Road at the edge of Hiawatha, rather than from inside the city of Cedar Rapids, so I will reach the shady part of the trail more quickly. Bicycling will be more enjoyable when temperatures get below 90 degrees later this month.

Making Connections

I've been checking out a few more area trails, and I have to say that it's a good thing I specialize in seat-of-the-pants navigation. Recently I was extremely irritated after I drove out to Lake MacBride, asked around for the bike path, had to circle the whole park because all the roads were one way, parked near the path, and biked the little 5-mile multiuse trail, only to find that the trail terminates in a town that's very convenient to me. My bike trails book makes it look like the trail ends out in a cornfield somewhere, but no, it ends at a baseball field in Solon, which is on my route home from work.

The towns of Iowa City and Coralville have a number of multiuse trails, but the amusing thing is that they are not connected to one another. I carry a brochure with a large map of bike paths in the Iowa City area, and it doesn't really give excessive street names or any such extraneous logistical details. My bike trails book never says how to find smaller trails, basically gives the name of the town and a phone number, and you're on your own. I only found Olin's Grant Wood Recreational Trail because I knew where the railroad used to be; there's a sign for the trail if you arrive from the south, but not if you come from the north. We used to stop and wait for interminably long trains on our way to visit Great-Grandma Mary, but now there's no trace indicating that there ever was a train track. To get to the Grant Wood trail, I turn at the splendidly restored Victorian home where Grandma Ruth grew up and Grandpa Roy courted her, and then I take a right and pull into the parking lot on the left.

However, back in Iowa City there's the challenge of finding the next trail when the trail you're riding on suddenly ends. This weekend some friends and I met at Coral Ridge Mall for a ride to North Liberty on the North Ridge Trail, to be followed by a ride south to Highway 1 on the Coralville Clear Creek Trail and the Willow Creek Trail (not connected). The first navigational challenge was that I knew where the southbound trail was, but not the northbound. This problem was easily solved as they turned out to be connected. But what I didn't know was that I wasn't officially on the North Ridge Trail yet, although my map said I was!

We biked around North Ridge Park, picked the most likely-looking path north, and biked all the way to the town of North Liberty (only 5-6 miles), taking a few wrong turns but finding our way. The path was not at all well marked until we got two miles out from North Liberty, when we realized we had not been on the North Ridge Trail at all. We returned via the North Ridge Trail, a well-marked 5-mile path which terminated at an apparently random street about half a mile from North Ridge Park.

We did not take the two paths south to Highway 1 due to a thunderstorm, but I do know the way, thanks to Thursday Night Leisure Rides with Bicyclists of Iowa City, people who know the connecting routes between the bike trails!

Deer Crossing

This weekend I biked from Epworth to Durango and back, a distance of 24 miles on the Heritage Trail. Durango has a population of 34, making it larger than nearby Graf.

I am becoming a better cyclist, and I averaged 12 m.p.h. on the crushed limestone path without particularly exerting myself. The trail is long and rural, so there's no need to slow down or stop all the time for pedestrians like on urban trails: only occasionally. And then there's the wildlife.
This time I saw a deer leaping into the woods ahead of me, and I stopped because I heard something on the other side of the path, and deer usually travel in groups. As my friend Chuck would say, "Bambi they ain't." I would sincerely not like to get kicked by a deer.

Well, a doe and fawn broke out of the woods a safe distance ahead of me to my right, and the doe turned away from me and jumped back into the trees, but the spotted fawn, less than two feet tall, spun around and ran straight at me on my stopped bicycle. As I stared in astonishment, the fawn barely missed my front wheel, brushed my right ankle, crossed behind me, and vanished into the woods at my left.

I rode on, still feeling the sensation of deer fur against my ankle. I'm glad it wasn't the buck!

More Exploring

My new favorite place to ride is the Sac and Fox Trail in Cedar Rapids. I still technically prefer the Dubuque-Dyersville Heritage Trail, but the Sac and Fox is a lot closer. It is an easy trail, actually even less strenuous than the Heritage Trail because there are lots of little hills, and the speed from descending one hill gets me going up the next. Since the Heritage Trail is fairly flat, I work a lot harder and change gears more when I ride there.

The Sac and Fox is a multi-purpose recreational trail, but it is much better for bicycling than for walking. Its turns and hills are too small to provide interest for a hiker, but they are lots of fun for a novice bicyclist. I meet a lot of recreational riders, some serious road riders, a few walkers, and typically one deer and one tanned guy on a gently used Trek (not the same deer or the same man every time). The men on the Treks can be a little crushing to my ego because they pass me really easily, and they're obviously not putting forth any effort, sometimes even riding without hands. Still, I treat them extra nicely, not only because I'm a nice person, but also because I recognize their potential usefulness. One heavensent Trek rider fixed my front brakes for me one night.

I checked out Matsell Bridge Recreation Area, which got a full page spread in a book on Iowa biking trails, but I didn't like it. I had to either share a trail with horseback riders, which seemed daunting, or else I had to ride on a gravel road out behind the firing range. I find gunshots unsettling.

I decided to pick out my own riding route. There's a little-trafficked, scenic county road running from Lisbon to the Historic Sutliff Bridge, where a small tavern is conveniently located. The ride is 6 miles out and 6 miles back, and it can be extended by either cycling on into Mount Vernon on the north end, or riding out past the bridge toward the historic church on the south end. I made a good call; it's an excellent ride past several scenic farms and over a stream or two. I don't know why I never see any bicyclists out there. I wonder if it has anything to do with the condition of the road; I've encountered fewer bumps on gravel roads. It doesn't bother my steel-framed hybrid bike, but I don't know what someone on a skinny-tired bicycle would think.

Back Roads and New Neighbors, Part 2

I got a day off this week and decided to find Sugar Bottom Recreational Area, site of the only mountain bike trails I know of around here. I knew the directions I had were inadequate, and the park was not marked on my map. First I found the wrong recreational area, stopped, and acquired directions and a map, so after that I went straight to Sugar Bottom. Of course when I arrived, I didn't know where the bike trails were. I stopped at the campground to ask, and they didn't know either. They had a map of the bike trails, and I had that too, but we couldn't tell what part of the park the trails were in.

However, the signs seemed to be pointing me to the beach, so I went there. At first I only found the frisbee golf course, the picnic shelter, and the bathrooms, but then I spotted a dilapidated sign at the far end of the parking lot. There it was: the access road to the bike trails.

I was glad to visit Sugar Bottom on a weekday morning when there was no one else around. I knew I was clueless, and I didn't want to be a rolling roadblock slowing down all the other riders. On that weekday morning I was alone. The only sounds in the woods were the cries of the birds, the whirr of my bicycle tires, and my muffled shrieks and curses.

The trails are rated "easier," "more difficult," and "most difficult." Some of the "most difficult" ones have colorful names like Hell Trail. I only briefly attempted a "more difficult" trail, but it seemed to have the same obstacles as "easier," just more of them. I suspect there is a substantial jump between "more difficult" and "most difficult."

Frequently on the "easier" trails I couldn't make it up a hill, either because it was too steep for me, or more often because I couldn't navigate the tree roots. I would get my rear wheel caught on a root and come to a dead stop, and then I couldn't get started again because of the uphill path choked with tree roots. Twice I simply carried my bike up a hill because the tree roots were so huge. Once my chain came off its track when I shifted down while ascending a steep hill. I took some skin off my thumb from gripping my handlebars too tightly.

I'm proud of my bicycle for managing all the bumps and abrupt changes of direction. My spokes are all intact.

I had to stop from time to time to admire the scenery, which was quite varied and nice. There was no time to look while I was riding! I was always either pedaling hard to get uphill, or holding the brakes like a total sissy on the downhill. I did improve over the course of my ride, and one time the cackling birds were briefly silenced by my raucous whooping and hollering after I made it up a root-choked hill without stopping.

I enjoy birds. I enjoy birds except . . . except when they take up residence in my air conditioner. Last week a pair of sparrows did just that. They would flap their wings against the grate of my A/C at 5:45 a.m. sharp, waking me up. Although it was 40 degrees outside, I ran my A/C fan in an attempt to frighten the birds away, but I was the only one frightened by the clanking, sickly churning of my A/C. The sparrows were unphased.

My A/C is well out of reach of a broom handle, so I called my landlady. She promised to come out the next day, but she didn't make it, and these birds were making a very large nest, so at 8:15 p.m. I took action. I laid my yoga mat out and wrapped it around the tip of a dowel to make a long pole, and when that wasn't quite long enough, I clipped my dust pan to the other end of the dowel. I was on a mission, and I didn't care how much of a crackpot the neighbors thought I was.

I knocked down about half the nest, with the sparrow couple watching me in dismay from a nearby phone line. "The crazy predator is after our humble home! Have we offended? Edna, what can have gotten into that monkey with the stick? I've never seen anything like it!" They were so sure I must have had a bout with temporary insanity, that they came back and rebuilt the next day. Equally obstinate, I gave the nest a quick knock in the morning, and my landlady got the rest down in the afternoon. The sparrows decided that since there were multiple monkeys with sticks, appearing at irregular but frequent intervals, maybe this wasn't such a great place to start a family after all, and they moved on to a quieter spot with saner neighbors.

Back Roads and New Neighbors, Part 1

Occasionally I use my bicycle to save a quart of gas by riding to the next town instead of driving, but most of the time when I ride, I use up a gallon or two of gas by driving my bike somewhere and then riding on a trail. I feel a bit silly about this, but it sure is nicer than riding around town, especially now, when the town's lilacs are in bloom and I practically choke on their overwhelmingly heavy perfume. By the time I get across town, I feel sick to my stomach.

Trailheads are often located in the countryside, and I sometimes have to travel obscure roadways to find them. Driving on back roads in Iowa is challenging even for an experienced navigator such as myself, and I've decided to search for a road atlas of the state. Ordinary road maps show most of the roads, but they don't provide names for the small roads. I have to guess as to whether I'm on the correct road.

Last week I rode my bike from Graf, a tiny village in the hills west of Dubuque, an area similar in appearance to much of Pennsylvania. Only one road goes to Graf, and much to my surprise, the bridge from the east was out. I could either go back south the way I came and approach Graf from the northwest, or I could reverse direction and head east, look for a turn to the north, find the highway going west, and cut south in the hope of finding Graf Road. I accomplished this without making a single wrong turn, although it took 25 minutes, and I did not know I had chosen the correct route until Fivepoints Road became Graf Road a couple miles north of Graf. Graf is a lovely spot to ride from, but in future I'll park in Epworth instead so I won't have to worry about any collapsed bridges.

The ride was simply divine; I particularly enjoy the views of creeks that flow alongside the trail and cross it under bridges. There was one view that I'd like to forget, but it is, thankfully, unlikely to recur. Let's just say that bicyclists move faster than pedestrians, so a pedestrian might be in the midst of a private act and not notice an oncoming cyclist.

I saw two Great Blue Herons together, the first time I had seen more than one at a time. However, the next week at Coralville Reservoir I saw several, as well as possibly an osprey, and many smaller birds.

Return of the Prairie Wind

Sometimes a gal has to be determined if she wants to get in her bike ride every few days. Friday I didn't ride because it rained; Saturday I didn't ride because it had just rained, and there was a ferocious wind; Sunday things were drier, but there was still a ferocious wind, and I rode anyway. I was the only bicyclist out there. I decided to do my standard short ride of 10.5 miles, and it wasn't so bad because I didn't worry about going fast, but I was continually worried that I would tip over or be blown off the trail. I felt like a swimmer traveling at an angle to the undertow.

I remember when I was a kid, and I could never seem to find days that were windy enough to fly a kite. Must have been a quiet year!

There are several good turnaround points for short rides on the Heritage Trail out of Dyersville. I can turn around at the large tree after 3.2 miles, which I do when I take my mom out with her antique Schwinn. I can turn around at the birch stand at the 4-mile mark, a lovely spot. I can turn around at the crest of the hill after 4.75 miles. But I prefer to ride to the raised roadbed at 5.25 miles, and get a good rolling start on my way back down.

However, my favorite turnaround spot is the willow-shrouded pond with the swans at the 9-mile mark. I'll wait for a calmer day.

Hiking Sampler

Hiking in Iowa is an uncertain enterprise, not for the easily deterred. There are usually surprises. (Occasionally there are no surprises, but that is rare enough to be surprising.)

I have found no surprises on Eastern Iowa's Heritage Trail, where I go bicycling. It is a straight shot trail rather than a loop, which I consider a disadvantage for a walker, and there's a fee. However, it is quiet and lovely, there are benches and a couple of toilets, and strong animal smells are few and confined to the area between Dyersville and Farley.

Iowa's state parks are free to visit, which is one of the many very cool things about Iowa. Backbone State Park offers a number of excellent trails, particularly the short loop along the Backbone Ridge. Here the surprise came when I sat down to watch the sunset: tiny, ferocious black insects that crawled all over me and bit every area they could access.

Insects are a common problem here. I remember a late summer hike to which a friend showed up wearing shorts. My heart sank because I knew my hike would be cut short. My friend would not last ten minutes before being driven away by mosquitos. That day I had my socks rolled over my lightweight batik pants, and I wore a baseball cap, and my mother asked me, "Do you have to look stupid to go on a hike?" Nonplussed, I eventually gathered myself enough to respond, "Why, yes, it is sort of a prerequisite."

Indian Creek Nature Center has an absolutely wonderful little network of trails with an abundance of wildlife, but hikers should wear long pants, because there is one small place where poison ivy has overgrown the trail and you cannot walk around it. Even though I knew the ivy was there, it was so tall that I accidentally touched it. Whoops!

This past weekend was the last weekend before deer season, so I observed the occasion with a hike. I chose the Sac and Fox Trail, Iowa's oldest national recreational trail. The Sac and Fox is another straight shot trail, but short enough that you can park a car at each end of it and walk the whole 7.2 miles. It is located on the south end of a genuinely charming and likable city with a lot of recreational opportunities, but no area is perfect, and this particular pleasant community bears the unfortunate informal nickname "City of Five Smells." The wind was unfavorable that day (normally it blows the other direction), and one of those five smells, a sewage treatment facility, followed me for half my hike. Surprise!

One place to hike without surprises--unless you include startling visions of people caked head to toe in mud from crawling around in caves--is Maquoketa Caves State Park. I highly recommend it for its clearly marked trails, caves, and plant life.

Effigy Mounds National Monument has only a short trail, but it's a good one, with awesome views of the Mississippi River. The first section is a mildly steep walk up a bluff, and I always find it entertaining to hear people's complaints about the rigors of the climb. They warn me to take it slow. Once my hiking partner asked some kids if they thought he could make it all the way up, and they all hollered "No!"

Okay, it's not Colorado or New Hampshire, but it's not all cornfields, either. Not that there's anything wrong with that!

Heritage Trail

In early September I bought myself a hybrid (mountain-road) bike. I didn't shop around at all. I went to a tiny bicycle shop in Dyersville, Iowa, run as a hobby by a nice man with a day job, and I bought the only new bicycle he had in stock. It is a Cignal Ranger, an inexpensive bike with a heavy steel frame. I figured that if I turned out to be too lazy to ride my bicycle, I wouldn't be out an arm and a leg. As it turns out, I ride about as often as my back allows. Every time the weather is clear and tolerably warm, I say, "This could be the LAST beautiful day before winter! I have to go for a bike ride!" and I'm out the door.

I had intended to regularly ride a circuit from the house to the park, around the park a few times, and back. Unfortunately, my back would not tolerate the terrain, which is hilly and full of deep ruts and plenty of loose gravel. Sadly, I resigned myself to driving to the Heritage Trail, which runs between Dyersville and Dubuque. Philosophically, it irritates me to drive somewhere in order to ride a bicyle, but I suppose that cripples can't be choosers.

Fortunately for me, it turned out that the Heritage Trail was a wonderful bike path. It is a rails-to-trails project with a smooth surface of crushed limestone. I have previously bicycled only in towns and on Rhode Island bicycle paths and roads, which are certainly pleasant, especially the East Bay Bike Path, which runs down the eastern shore of Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island. However, I like Iowa's Heritage Trail better. It has the beauty of New England without the crowds. Of course in Iowa there's also the intermittent smell of cattle manure, but the natural beauty and solitude make up for it in my view.

At first when I rode for short distances from Dyersville, I was impressed with riding past farms and fields, surrounded by wildflowers and trees and birds. There were a lot of benches available to sit on, great for walkers. Leaving from Dyersville, I would ride uphill on the way out, then downhill on the way back, which meant I could go as far as I could manage, then return easily. I would measure my distance by the number of farms that I passed.

The Heritage Trail propaganda claims that it has no more than a 1% grade at any point, but I do not think that is strictly true, because there are a couple of places where the trail crosses a raised roadway. I guess it would be cumbersome to write "The Heritage Trail has a 1% grade everywhere except at a couple of places where there's a 5% grade, but they're small enough hills that you can get off and walk your bike if you want to. Otherwise it's all 1%."

It does not follow that because the trail is flat, the area is flat. The trail is on a raised rail bed and is often surrounded by hills on either side, sometimes small cliffs where builders blasted a path for the track.

After Farley, the 6-mile mark, the trail becomes sheltered and even prettier, which surprised me since it was so pretty even before that. Farley is the high point of the Heritage Trail, so the trail past Farley is a downhill ride that comes as a relief after the laborious 6-mile climb to Farley up that demanding 1% grade... After Farley one enters cattle country, but it is not particularly stinky because the cattle graze in the fields instead of being kept together in a small area. There are many streams and fields, a few very low cliffs alongside the trail. My favorite spot is at the 9-mile mark: a pond with a large overhanging willow and often geese or swans.

At Epworth, the 10-mile mark, is the first view of a hillside covered in trees, which is a particularly lovely sight in autumn. A mile beyond Epworth the downward slope ends, and the trail climbs slightly uphill again for three more miles toward Graf, where there's a park with welcome toilet facilities.

One weekend I parked in Graf and bicycled to the Farley high point and back, 8.75 miles each way. Graf is difficult to find without either directions or a detailed map, and at first I took a wrong turn and wound up driving on unnumbered roads until I found myself 12 miles away in Dubuque.

Shortly after Graf the terrain changes as the trail nears Dubuque. Dyersville is part of the Western Corn Belt Plains, but Dubuque is part of the Paleozoic Plateau, so named because of the rock strata that have been exposed through erosion. There are a number of steep hills and bluffs. Sometimes the trail cuts directly through them, but more often there are simply beautiful views of stony hillsides. A stream runs alongside the trail for several miles.

At this late date most of the trees have dropped their leaves, and the trail looks wintry. Soon daytime temperatures will be reliably below 40 degrees, and I will stop riding until spring. I don't like the cold wind on my nose.